


Hobo’s Back With A Shotgun

by webhead3019



Category: Hobo with a Shotgun (2011)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webhead3019/pseuds/webhead3019
Summary: They thought they killed him. They thought wrong. It’s going to take more than a few bullets to put the Hobo down, but he’s going to dispense of a whole lot more.





	Hobo’s Back With A Shotgun

Time has gone by since the Hobo’s last appearance. Many thought the Hobo to be among the dead, but there were also many who thought otherwise. Whatever his status, the Hobo had served his purpose, at least for the time being. If ever the Hobo was needed again, the majority of Scumtown had no doubt in their mind, dead or not, their vigilante would return to bring back order to their town the only way they knew how. If nothing truer could be said about the man, the myth, and the legend himself, the Hobo had proven to be a persistent spirit unlike any in the town, especially for his age. However, Scumtown still had its slew of problems plaguing it and a promising new mayor intended to address that momentarily now. The mayor seemed to be a good man who seemed nearly exempt from corruption and that was something Scumtown desperately needed.

A lady said, “Such a shame about that hobo. He really cleaned this town up, but now there isn’t a damn cop in this city. Not that they were doing their jobs to begin with. We need to set up some type of community. We’re just one more fuckin bad day away!” Her friend said, “Tell me about it. Oh my god! Is that...” Blood pampered the screaming audience as the newly appointed mayor fainted off the stage with a slashed throat. The presumed dead Ivan hopped up to the pedestal, accompanied by perhaps 20 gunmen with 4 Plague members to top them off. Ivan announced, “That’s right, motherfuckers! Why so fuckin shocked? You think one flesh wound is gonna fuckin keep Ivan down. I fuckin live for the the flesh! I fuckin kill for the flesh! But I don’t die for the flesh! And you wanna fuckin know why?”

Ivan answered, “Why, I’m the goddamn law of the land here, you stupid cunts. You think all is good and over with because my fuckin dad is dead? You’ve got another storm brewin for you cunts! I’m the new Drake! You fuckin hear me motherfuckers? You fuckin see me? There ain’t a goddamn cop left in town thanks to that shotgun carryin cunt, but I got a fuckin solution to that. The Plague is back in business, baby! We won’t stop until we get rid of every goddamn hobo in this fuckin town. It’ll be the fuckin bloodbath of the fuckin ages! Maybe then, you cocksuckin scum of the land will think twice before pickin up a shotgun again... in my fuckin city! Scatter, Plague! Show these cunts who’s fuckin king around here!” One of the Plague members drew his sword at a homeless man drunkenly laying by a nearby trash can.

The homeless man screamed, “Oh, fuck me!” He threw a beer bottle at his assailant. The Plague member leapt into the air off one leg and shattered the bottle with a powerful kick. The homeless man used a trash can lid to defend himself. The man hollered, “Stay back! I’m fuckin warnin you, cunt!” The Plague member’s sword passed through it like butter cutting it in two. The homeless man stared down at the 2 halves with a dumbstruck look on his face. The Plague member brought his sword down again, cutting off both his arms at the elbow joints. The man screamed and was quickly silenced with another chop, this time to the neck. The Plague member pushed him up against the wall. After building up enough pressure, he pulled back and the man’s head popped off his shoulders.

The man hopped around like a headless chicken with a fountain of blood shooting out of his stump. He toppled over and everyone screamed and began to pour out. Ivan cackled, “Not so fast, you fuckin cunts! Did I say leave? Kill them! Not all of them! But enough to send a fuckin message!” The gunmen sprayed a barrage of bullets blindly. The bullets shredded through at least 40 people, killing over half of them upon emptying each of their respective clips. Arms and legs went every which way. Heads imploded every which way. Shells and gore littered the area. They were all packed closely together, so all of them were mowed down within a matter of seconds. The Gunmen stayed where they were, while the Plague members beheaded any and everyone who was still bleeding out.

For every head collected, the Plague members punched their grappling hooks through the stump and fired up at the ceiling of the pavilion. By the time they were through, 2 dozen heads hung up in the rafters like twisted ornaments and it wasn’t even Christmas. The pavilion precipitated more than enough blood to be mistaken for rain clouds. Ivan was right about the bloodbath, but he was only getting started. Ivan laughed, “If by some shit fuckin luck, that cunt finds his way back to us, he won’t be able to pick up the fuckin pieces this time! I’m the new Drake and I plan to live up to that fuckin title. Things are gonna be worse! Oh, yes! Much, much fuckin worse! I dare you to die for the flesh! So come on, hobo! Any fuckin hobo! Test my fuckin power now! Come on, motherfucker! Come on, cunts! Let’s tango!”

And scatter they did. Scumtown belonged to the Drake once again. Ivan was right and the hobo was still alive. The hobo’s body had mysteriously vanished on the night that claimed the life of Ivan’s father and preceding Drake. All this time, his recovery had been tended to by Abby. He was suited with the bulletproof armor Abby salvaged from the Plague member she had killed and the shotgun has never left his side. Just as Ivan suspected he hadn’t seen the last of the hobo, so too did the hobo suspect his work was not quite finished. Now it is time for the Hobo to resurface and pick up his shotgun once more. The Hobo is going to rid the city of its scum in the only way he knows how. The Hobo lit a cigarette and cocked his pump-action. After blowing a cloud of smoke, he aimed the shotgun at a punk who had just turned the corner following the massacre at the pavillion. The Hobo said, “Hobo’s back, baby!” He took aim and blew off the roof of the man’s skull. Brains and skull fragments smashed and splashed across the wall like a busted watermelon.

HOBO’S BACK WITH A SHOTGUN


End file.
